


A Glee Christmas Carol

by MotherGoddamn, Rebness



Category: Glee
Genre: Christmas, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/pseuds/MotherGoddamn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the Eve of Christmas, Kurt is shown the error of his Christmas hating ways by some very familiar faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally written December 2012]

 

'Bah, humbug!' Kurt swore under his breath as a gaudy bauble dropped from his clasp and clattered to the floor. 'If there was any justice in the world, that thing would have shattered into a million pieces and the impact have taken out anything within a three mile radious.'

'Kurt, cheer up, it's Christmas!' said Rachel, nudging at his shoulder. 'And isn't it great to be back in McKinley again?'

 'Actually, I'm a little worried about everyone's co-dependency on this school,' muttered Kurt, selecting a green (green!) snowman decoration from the box and glancing over at Santana and Quinn. 'Most people just, like, leave. I can't imagine the police reports after this lot had to graduate Kindergarten.'

'Oh, stop sulking.' Rachel pointed a piece of tinsel at him. 'You love it, you know you do.'

'Being in the same room as Blaine after everything that happened and trying to make this-- this-- I believe the term is _tree_  but I remain unconvinced-- look festive isn't my idea of fun, Rachel.' He turned and sighed at the door of the locked choir room. 'Especially in a hallway.'

'But I thought you two were taking steps to being friends again?'

'Baby steps! Not Finn steps!' Kurt looked over his shoulder to wear Blaine was staring at him with eyes that were in danger of taking over his face. 'I don't know-- I'm getting there but I'm just not feeling the Christmas vibe this year.'

Rachel sighed heavily. 'I know that it's hard, believe me I know. But Christmas is about togetherness, being with those you care about.'

'I thought that was what _Hannukah_  was about.' Kurt arched an eyebrow. 'You made me buy you  _eight_  presents, Rachel, eight. You can stop hinting about that rare Streisand LP, too. You can't appropriate every passing holiday just to fill the gaps in your music collection.'

'Well,' said Rachel flinging her hair over her shoulder. 'Someone just got uninvited from my Mōdraniht party.' Her expression softened. 'Look, Kurt, I'm glad you two are talking again, really, but maybe you both need to talk about something  real. Alone.'

Kurt pressed his lips together and focused his energy on untangling the almost satanic knotted string of lights in his hand. He could feel Rachel watching him, studying him, and awaiting his reply but he just couldn't. Every time he thought he was becoming stronger about what had became of him and Blaine, a moment like this would suddenly occur and gnaw at his heart. Okay, yes, when Finn had asked the old gang to drop by and try and bring some Christmas cheer to the dejected glee club he had thought that it would have been no problem, that he could breeze in and everything else would click into place. But seeing Blaine, so eager and excited to see him, had affected him more than he was willing to admit.

He had loved Christmas in years past, but how  was he to embrace its spirit when Blaine had broken his heart like one of those dire little baubles and when Finn was playing  _Jingle Bell Rock_ incessantly, and not even the  _Mean Girls v_ ersion? 

Kurt winced as his stepbrother stomped over to him, making the tree decorations bounce as if he were a particularly unfashionable t-rex. 

'Aw, what a great tree!' said Finn cheerfully. 

'Really?' 

'Yeah, all those little green Santas -- it's cool. It's like a Christmas/Men in Black mash-up.' Finn considered, then pulled out his phone. 'Siri, remember this: Christmas/Men in Black mash-up.'

'Let me think about that,' answered Siri. 'No.'

'God, I'm so sick of arguing with this thing.' Finn shoved the cell into his a back pocket. 'Anyway, what's up with you, man? You've been scowling all morning. Seriously, Kurt, you've got to let this go! At least until New Year's. Tis the season!'

'You're really going to lecture me about being grumpy at Christmas when Blaine broke my heart? Oh, and thank you for speaking to him about that, by the way, you know, taking my side...' 

'But I didn't.' 

Kurt glared. 'I know! But what I'm saying -- here, you put this on top of the tree -- is that you're pretending it doesn't matter. If Rachel was up in your face with puppy dog eyes every five minutes, your mood would-- oh, Rachel.' 

She appeared from behind the tree, her eyes as wide open and innocent-looking as Bambi's. Kurt knew the look well; he refused to bend to its power. Luckily for him, she turned the beam of her gaze from him and directed it full-on at Finn, who took a step back. 

'Whoah.' 

Kurt smiled. 'Now do you see?'

Rachel opened her mouth to commence her well-rehearsed Christmas breakup redux speech to Finn (of course, segueing into a heartbreaking rendition of _Last Christmas_  - she and Kurt had sourced a brooch she could stroke suggestively) when they were rudely interrupted.

'Hummel, I need fifty bucks.' Santana pushed past Rachel and held out a hand.

'We've left now, Santana, I don't owe you any protection money.'

'What? No, I already got that off Berry. Listen, I need to do an errand run for an actual star for the top of this tree rather than--' she pointed up at the remaining cardboard of a toilet roll that had been painted yellow. '...well, that.' She saw his sceptical look and jutted her chin. 'I need gas, too, dummy. Plus, services rendered, sales tax and I know you New Yorker types like to tip big.' On seeing he was unmoved, she rolled her eyes. 'Come on, Kurt, it's Christmas.'

'I-- forgot to bring my wallet. Add it to my tab.' Kurt turned from her, still catching a muttered curse aimed his way, before she stomped off, Brittany in tow.

'I gave her ten dollars, already,' said Blaine, appearing at his side. 'She told me it was a fine for wearing chinos in her presence.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Hey, Kurt.'

'Hey.' Kurt groaned inwardly at the blush he could feel rising to his cheeks. 'It's, uh, nice to see you.'

'You, too! Great! Fantastic! Real neat.' Blaine bit his lip and muttered something that sounded like  _stupid_  under his breath. 'Nice. It's nice to see you, too. You look great by the way. Healthy.'

'Oh-- thanks?'

 'So...' Blaine placed his hands behind his back, popping up and down on his toes. 

'We can still be friends, Blaine. We can still have a  _conversation_.' 

Blaine nodded eagerly. 'Oh, good. Because I've missed you, Kurt. Sincerely. I put my words down in song--' 

He held up a hand. 'I forgot quite how much things in McKinley are resolved in song. You should try doing that on the 6, see how far that gets you.' He rubbed his arm, remembering. 'But save your song for a year when I feel like it.' 

'So you do see a future--' 

'Blaine, are you going to help me decorate this tree or not?' 

'Oh, yes!' 

Kurt couldn't help giving a begrudgingly fond smile as Blaine set about decorating the tree. They worked in silence, and Kurt marvelled at how his ex was always so good-natured about things, so enthusiastic. He never approached things half-heartedly, but jumped right in-- 

_Like cheating_ , he thought sourly, and his good mood dissipated. 

Blaine  seemed to sense his shift in mood, and so didn't speak until they were done decorating and Kurt felt more composed. Only then did he speak:  'Kurt, Christmas is about so many things, and yet only one thing.'

Kurt nodded sagely. He pulled away from the tree to consider the decorations. 'Wait, by one thing, do you mean fashion or presents? Or fashion presents?'

Blaine sighed. 'No, no. Don't be flippant.'

'How dare you! I'm never flippant about fashion. Apart from that one time and that's because flippancy was in during the second week of June 2011.'

'I mean, Christmas is about giving, and charity.'

'That's two things.'

'No, not really.'

'Wait,' said Kurt, taking out his cell. 'I'll just look it up--'

'No! My point is, it's only special if you do something for other people. It's the season of goodwill, isn't it?'

Kurt cast him a tolerant look. 'Don't throw that on me now. I told you even before we were dating and you were a cheating cheater that cheated that I don't do--  _that_.'

Blaine glanced down at his crotch and reddened. 'No! I didn't mean that. Well, not really. What I meant was -- look, come with me to the  _New Directions with No Direction_  benefit.

Kurt froze. 'Excuse me?'

'I know, Hunter isn't fantastic with the-- uh-- titles. It's an event on Christmas Eve to raise money so we can have somewhere to have rehearsals. The Warblers thought it up.' Blaine beamed. 'I know they beat us at sectionals and all but in the spirit of Christmas, I guess. All of us are going and-- I thought that maybe you'd like to-- uh-- I mean only if you want to-- hmm-- sing a duet with me?'

Kurt blinked. 'And Sebastian's going to be there?'

'Sebastian? Well, I guess, he is a Warbler and--'

'And all the others who stood idly by while he tried to blind you? The others who stole our trophy? And good God, sang  _Flo Rida_ at an innocent crowd of people?' Kurt crossed his arms. ' _Those people_? And to top it all off, you want me to sing with you?' Kurt laughed bitterly. 'I don't think so.'

'But I thought-- you know for old times that--' Blaine held his hands in front of him, playing idly with a bauble. 'It's Christmas, Kurt.'

Kurt threw up his hands. 'People keep saying that to me! Like it's an automatic pass for everything! It's just another day, Blaine! No more important than any other day except in how much we all convince ourselves it actually matters!' He could feel the others turning to him as his voice rose, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 'And if you honestly think I'm going to show up at a charity show thrown by the Warblers, after everything they did, than you have another think coming.' He turned to the others. 'And I can't believe that you all would fall for it.'

'Kurt, what's got into you?' said Rachel, her eyes narrowed in concern. 'It's for a really good cause.'

'Really?' Kurt raised his eyebrows. ' _Gangnam Style_  is something we need to preserve, is it?'

'It's not just about that,' protested Joe. 'It's a way to connect, to focus on a creative output.'

'Oh, right. I forgot! Are there not social network sites? Are there not hipster photography apps?' Kurt placed his hands on his hips. 'You know what, I tried. I tried to get into the spirit of Christmas but I just can't.'

'You're being really mean right now,' said the new blonde girl cheerleader with the ugly skinny ponytail. 'I like it.'

'No, I'm not being mean,' said Kurt sadly. 'I'm being realistic.' He gestured to the lacklustre tree, where the baubles were pulling the branches to breaking point. 'You can dress it up as much as you want-- but it doesn't hide what's really beneath, it doesn't change anything at all. You wake up on the 26th, and everything still sucks. People still hurt you.' He glanced at Blaine. 'People still can't sing.' He glanced at Finn, who winked and pointed at Sam. He shrugged. 'I'm seeing Christmas for what it really is, and it's about time you all did, as well.'

'Kurt, wait--!' Blaine called. 'Don't do this, not at Christmas.'

'As a great man once said: bah, humbug!' He walked towards the school exit with his head held high. After all, it was one of his better flounces. 

 

* * *

  
'Kurt, are you okay? You've barely touched your food.' Carole was watching him from the other side of the table.

'What? Oh, sure-- yeah. Just tired I guess.' He poked at the meat and eyed the clumpy gravy suspiciously. 'It's-- uh-- just delicious, though.'

Carole smiled. 'More candied sprouts?' 

He declined politely, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Burt. Before Carole, it had been Kurt who handled the Christmas lunch (he had a clear memory of being nine years old and shouting at his father to julienne the carrots while Burt had grown more and more frustrated and threatened to punch Julian). It had been chaotic and he'd driven his father half-crazy with his orders and perfectionism, but it had been special. 

He sighed. It had all been so different, then.  _He'd_  been so different. 

'So,' said Carole, interrupting his thoughts, 'I got a DVD of  _Rudolph_ we can watch over egg nog later.' 

Kurt grimaced. 'Really?'

'You love that movie,' said Burt. 'Don't pretend you're too  _cool_ for it these days, son.' He smiled at Carole. 'He always cries at the end.' 

'I do not!' 

'You cry at  _Jingle Bell Rock_ ,' said Finn reasonably. 

'We all cry at your version of that,' said Burt. Carole slapped his shoulder lightly. 

'Can I be excused?' Finn asked. 'I'm heading over to Blaine's to discuss songs for the benefit.' Finn shot a look over to him. 'You know, you're totally welcome to come, dude.'

'Nice try, Finn, but no. I'm not interested.'

'What's this?' asked Burt looking back and forth between them. 'You're not going, Kurt? I thought you'd be all excited to sing with your old glee club.'

Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Really? Maybe when I was in high school, that was the highlight of my year. Do you know what I did last Thursday, Finn?' 

'Uh... catch a film?' 

'I watched Lucia Palmieri give a live rendition of  _Tosca_  in Central Park. It wasn't quite gangnam style, but I made do with that.' 

Finn nodded. 'Oh, right. Okay.' He stood up. 'Thanks for the dinner, mom. I'm going out to have some fun with our _friends_  and be nice.' 

Kurt smirked. 'Have fun!' 

Carole clapped her hands together. 'Don't be out too late, Finn. I want an early start tomorrow for wrapping the presents, and then we can have our Christmas Eve eggnog and Rudolph thing.' She patted Kurt's hand. 'And you cry all you want, honey. It's  _Christmas_ , after all.' 

 

* * *

Kurt snapped off the television as Alastair Sim's face filled the screen. Good God, could the world stop shoving Christmas down his throat? He dropped back on the bed with a groan and tried not to think of the others at the event. It was all so false! They were always glaring at each other and whining about the latest hook-ups, but some stupid event would change everything? No, they'd all be at each other's throats the next day. Fools. 

He was just fluffing up his pillow for sleep when he heard something at his window. He listened for a moment, heard nothing more, then turned away again. A noise like glass cracking caused him to sit bolt upright. He stared at the window. Nothing. It wasn't _that_  cold out. It couldn't have cracked. 

'Hello?' 

_Okay, what the hell is that?_  he asked himself, panicked. It had been a woman's voice and God, he'd seen  _The Woman in Black!_ He didn't dare look above himself less some old lady come and suck out his soul. 

He scrunched his eyes shut and willed it to go away. He counted to 100 and heard nothing. He tentatively reached above: no floating hag. He cautiously opened his eyes again. 

Nothing. 

_But I heard her!_

The house was in silence, his father and Carole having retired to bed a couple of hours earlier. He reflected that he was in what was technically nearest to  _the attic_ , so the serial killer or rabid raccoon rapping at the window would totally come and finish him first. He wondered if he had time to hurtle down the stairs before he was murdered for his beautiful skin. 

Even as he leapt from his bed, he could see tendrils of smoke from beneath the door. That must have been it - his atheist guardian angel had warned him! Oh, kind fate! He opened his mouth to shout for his father, to warn them of the fire, when to his horror the smoke took human form. He opened his mouth again to shout for help, but he was choked with fear. He stumbled backwards as the figure grew more solid.   

'Hi, Kurt.' 

Well, thankfully no screaming yet. He leapt backwards as the apparition came closer, its ectoplasm curling and snaking along the floor. 

'What the hell are you doing in my room?' he squeaked, reaching for the nearest weapon. He picked up a shoe and threw it at her -- it flew right through her. Her face had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. And that was before he even started on that thing plopped on her head at tilted , hipster angle.

As if sensing his stare, the slim girl tapped at the whim of her quirky hat. 'I'm Marley Rose! And I am here to tell you that tonight you will be visited by three other apartitions, they will all tell you to change your ways before it's too late and it will come to a satisfying-- if predictable-- conclusion.'

Kurt blinked. 'Wow, you just lay it all out there, don't you?'

'It's kind of my thing.' She smiled widely and then held up a card. 'Would you like to sign my mother's day card?'

'It's-- it's December?'

'Every day is mother's day to me!'

'Okay, so I'm calling the po-- _ARGH_!' Kurt leapt backwards as Marley surged towards him, feet never touching the ground and body passing easily through his dresser. 'How did you do that? Are you a ghost?' He clutched at his throat in horror. He knew he should have let Finn have this room when they moved. Damn that walk in wardrobe, damn it to hell.

'Well, no. Not really.' She paused. 'I don't think so anyway.'

'Hang on! I know you! You're the girl who fainted at sectionals, right? And found a new rehearsal room by opening a door and pointing outside?'

She laughed. 'Yeah, it was this whole thing. Anyway! I'm here about you and this little Christmas downer you have going on. I'm here to help you, Kurt.'

'What do you want with me?'

'Much,' answered Marley. 'But mainly for you to stop whining about Christmas.'

'I am not whin-- Wait, wait--' Kurt threw back the covers. 'This is all a dream, right? Some sort of weird gravy dream.' He laughed dryly. 'You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's something a bit clunky gravy-like about you!' He paused. 'God, Carole's cooking is the worst.'

'It matters not who I am or why am here--

'And Marley? Like Jacob Marley? Really? That's a bit of reach.'

'Hear me! My time is nearly gone! Tonight you will be haunted by three spirits.'

'Let's not and say we did?'

'Repent, Kurt Hummel, repent your ways before they set in and you become bitter and cold and hated like Fox News at election time. You will be haunt--.'

'Ergh, I get it! You think I've never seen the TV specials?' He crossed his arms. 'Can we just get it over with then? Maybe if they all come at once and do a three part harmony or something?'

'Oh, my God-- you are really difficult to work with, you know that?' She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. 'As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. These three ghosts will visit you upon each chime of the clock.' She pointed to the wall. 'Expect the first within the hour, the second the next hour and the third shall appear to you on the stroke of midnight.' She loomed close. ' _On the stroke of midniiiiiggght_.'

'The fact that you haven't stopped grinning this entire time has sort of taken the edge off the terror, you realise.' 

 

* * *

Kurt woke up gently, the dull light from the street lamp outside illuminating his room. Slowly, Marley Rose and her warning came back to him as his mind pulled into focus. ' _Was it a dream?'_  he thought, _surely it was, just a dream brought on from watching that movi--_

_Ding, dong!_

'A quarter past,' said Kurt, counting as the clock on the wall, a feat that it had never done before, began to chime.

_Ding, dong!_

'Half-past!' said Kurt, perhaps Carole had placed new batteries in it? That was the only sensible explanation. It certainly couldn't be something other-worldy. That was just ridiculous.

_Ding, dong!_

'A quarter to it,' said Kurt

_Ding, dong!_

'The hour itself,' said Kurt triumphantly, 'and nothing else!'

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did.

'Oi!' Kurt shrieked as a slap rocked his head to the side. 'Wakes up, morning breath. We've only got an hour to get your glittery behind back to the top of the tree where it belongs.'

'Santana?' Kurt grabbed at his stinging face. 'Brittany? What are you--'

'We are the Ghosts of Christmas Past,' said Brittany in a voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

'So--' said Kurt, watching Santana warily as she held up his childhood teddy-bear with a sneer, '...dinosaurs and things?'

'No,' answered Brittany. 'Just your past.' She paused. 'Unless you knew dinosaurs?'

Kurt closed his eyes and counted to ten. Or attempted to; on number four his eyes flew open as Santana introduced her palm to his cheek once more. 'Seriously, Hummel, we are on a schedule here. Take my hand, will you, so we can go see if you were this annoying when you were a toddler.'

'But-- but--' Kurt shook his head as they both took a hand of his each. 'This is just an extremely lucid dream, that's all. Finn dreams about lesbians accosting him in his bedroom all the time.'

'I know, right?' Santana rolled his eyes. 'Why he thinks it's worthy of a Facebook update  _every single time_ , I'll never know.'

 

* * *

 

He remembered it vividly. It was perhaps his most real, most accessible memory of her. She was a perfumed presence, fussing over the turkey and casting wry glances at Burt as he stole a bite to eat.  _Fairytale of New York_ was playing on the radio, and he didn't notice the bitterness in the lyrics at all, because it was a fun song, he was happy. He was safe. 

Kurt smiled as the tiny version of himself  _ohhed_ and _ahhed_  as he pulled the wrapper off to reveal the easy bake oven underneath.

'Oh! I had one of those!' cried Brittany. 'It was the best Christmas. People came from all over just to see the inferno.'

Burt reached over and stroked at the nape of his wife's neck, a soft grin on his face. She turned to him and placed a peck on his cheek. At their feet, younger Kurt was happily babbling to himself as he opened and closed the door on the toy.

'Wow,' breathed Kurt. 'Look at them.'

'Look at  _you_ ,' said Santana. 'You were happy.'

'Well, I was five, Santana. It was easier then.'

'It still could be. If you got out of your own way.' She touched at his arm. 'Come on. We've got to keep this moving.' The world spun as the air around them dropped away, leaving behind the happy moment in time and bringing them to cold, hard linoleum floor in a long white corridor.

'Where are we?' asked Kurt. 'Is this heav-- oh, never mind. That person is wearing polyester. This is so not heaven.' He glanced around again, noticing the tinsel that had been taped to the walls and the Safety During the Holidays posters that adorned the space below them. 'I know this place,' he whispered. 'It's--'

'The Lima Memorial Hospital,' finished Brittany. 'This is where it began.'

'Where what began?'

'This is where you first began to doubt the spirit of Christmas,' said Santana in a low whisper. Taking his arm, she turned him slightly so that he could view through a window within the door closest to them.  In the room stood Kurt's father, a hat in his hand, listening with a downturned head as the man in a white coat spoke. Just behind him, a little boy sat with his legs swinging and a teddy held tight in his hands. Between the three, there was a bed where that same beautiful woman lay as if in slumber. Kurt didn't need to be in the room to know what the doctor was saying. He remembered every word.

'She died a few days later,' said Brittany. 'And that year your dad, he tried but--'

'It wasn't enough,' said Kurt. 'The house was too quiet. The lights too dull. The music sounded tinny and vague, and I made dad shut it off. I felt like I was drowning in the heaviness of her absence.' He wrapped his arms around himself. 'I began to forget little things about her. Dad threw out the last of her perfume, and I shouted and cried at him for days. He got a new bottle just so I could remember, but it wasn't even right. It didn't have that  _warmth,_  you know.' He smiled tightly. 'But he really tried, every year he would do all the same traditions that we used to have with her. We always opened one present on Christmas Eve, and every year without fail that present would be for new pyjamas to wear on Christmas morning.' He felt his eyes welling up. 'I loved her so much. And he tried so hard to keep her for me.'

'He's a good guy, your dad.'

'I know,' said Kurt with a smile. 'He always tried to protect me from the worst.'

Santana placed a hand upon his shoulder. 'But he couldn't always.'

'No, he coul--'

* * *

 

'--dn't!' Kurt hit the ground with a loud, hard smack. 'What the hell, Santana?'

'Hey, homo!' 

Kurt, rubbing at his aching arm looked up in annoyance. Standing to his far left was a group of jocks, sneering down at a young, impeccably dressed boy. 'Oh, crap.'

'Yup.' Brittany reached out a hand to help him up. 'We've reached the Lifetime channel portion of the night.'

'Hey, does your dad know you're missing from, like the top of your tree?' The jocks laughed loudly. 'Because you're a fairy. Get it. Because you're totally gay. You like cock is what I'm getting at here.'

Brittany laughed uproariously, wiping at her eyes. 'Ha. Cock. I love chickens.'

'God, Chris Hardy. I  _hated_  him. He was such a neanderthal.' Kurt crossed his arms and glared at the past scene. 'I decorated my locker that year with the most beautiful wreath. They stole it and stabled it to the top of the principal's convertible. I had detention for a month.' The other Kurt broke away from the gang, walking away with his head held high but the hurt clear in his eyes. Behind him the group still continued to cat-call and throw abuse. 'Can we just move on? I didn't particularly enjoy this the first time.'

'Sure.' Santana wrinkled her nose. 'There. Done.'

Kurt glanced around him, confused. 'Uh, we're still here.'

'Oh, no,' said Brittany sadly. 'I hate repeats.'

Kurt followed her gaze and realised Santana was right. They had moved on. But not much had changed. As the other Kurt walked towards him the surroundings began to shift and blur, but the subject remained the same. The clothes would segue into more fabulous attire, the hair would vary in numerous styles-- but the boy walking towards them was always sad. The boy walking towards them was always alone.

The three gave a start as the latest incarnation of Kurt was shoved hard from the side and to the ground.

'I'm sorry-- this is supposed to make me realise Christmas is some amazing thing?' He gestured at his past self, as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself down sadly. 'I'm miserable, guys!'

'Yeah. You were-- but maybe we can improve things.' Santana smirked. 'Well, the scenery at least.' She clicked her fingers.

 

* * *

  
Kurt stumbled as the reality shifted and the ground beneath his feet became carpented. 'Hey, this is Dalton!'

  
_So very nice_

_I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice_

_My mother will start to worry_

_Beautiful, what's your hurry_

  
'This must be a terrible memory,' gasped Santana. 'Look at your hair! You look like you just got evacuated out of London during World War II. Was Blaine confiscating your hairgel?'

  
'Oh, look how cute you both are!' Brittany clasped her hands together. 'You're all matching like the twins in  _The Shining!'_  She began to clap along with the music. 

  
_Mind if I move a little closer_

_At least I'm gonna say that I tried_

_What's the sense of hurting my pride_

_I really can't stay_

_Baby don't hold out_

_Ahh, but it's cold outside_

_I simply must go_

_Oh, baby, it's cold outside_

_The answer is no_

_You know it's cold outside_

  
'Is the terrible memory this totally date rapey song?' Santana asked, sitting down on the couch next to the past Kurt and Blaine. 'Because otherwise I don't get it. You look pretty happy to me.'

  
'I was-- well.' Kurt shrugged. 'After this, Blaine does rush out to duet with some girl but--' He smiled. 'No, this is a nice mem--gah!'

'Oh! Mr. Schue!' Santana nodded sagely. 'Got you. Christmas ruined.'

'I''m just saying,' said Kurt. 'Dalton had telephones, you know?'

      

* * *

Kurt blinked as they materialised in the McKinley's choir room. 'Can I get frequent flyer points with this or--' He glanced towards the front and he felt his heart leap at how handsome Blaine looked beside Rachel.

_It came into my dreams last night_

_A great, big man in red and white._

_'A_ rgh,' spat Santana. 'That sounds like the beginning of a police report. What is up with Christmas music?' She nudged Kurt hard. 'Want to wind that tongue back in?'

'What?' said Kurt, indignantly. 'I'm just admiring his form. I can do that, can't I? Even if said form likes to rub itself up against other skanky forms.' He leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and chin between his palms. 'This was a good Christmas. Blaine got me the sweetest gift.'

'He gave you  _trash_!' cried Santana. 'I mean-- I know this whole deal was about showing the true meaning of Christmas and all but damn, Hummel, I would have dumped his ass then.'

Kurt turned to her with a glare. 'Santana, there is not romantic bone in your body--'

'--know the bone  _you're_  thinking about.'

'--I happened to love that gift. It was lovely and thoughtful-- if extremely impractical to wear-- and I adored it.' He glanced sadly as Blaine began to chase Rachel round the tree. 'I adored him.'

'So, wait-- this is a happy memory, too?' Brittany frowned. 'Did we take a wrong turning?'

Santana nodded and looked pointedly at him. 'I guess it is. I guess Kurt has had some bad Christmasses and he's had some good ones. And I guess maybe he should have faith in this one.'

As Rachel and Blaine joined together on the final note, the choir room melted away.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt awoke mid-snore and shook himself in disgust. He wiped at the drool on his bottom lip and hoped that the second spirit hadn't arrived early. God, second spirit? What was he talking about? It was just another dream! Rubbing at his eyes, he realised that his room was already light and yet the clock indicated it had just turned eleven, the chime began to follow its arrival at the hour and Kurt groaned heavily. Not again. A low glow began to rise and then settle over the room and Kurt could smell-- was that pizza? He crawled forward across his bed, towards the warm light. At his desk, he saw the frame of a tall man in a long cloak and what appeared to be a garland tied around his head.

'Finn? You, too?'

'Come in!' exclaimed he. 'Come in! and know me better, man.'

'What the hell are you talking about? You are in my room and if you get crumbs on this carpet, I swear I will make you a  _real_ ghost.'

'You're kind of killing the mood, bro.' Finn stood up, wiping his hands on his thighs. 'So, like, I'm here to show the present and stuff. You wanna come over here and grab my robe?'

Kurt peered out from under the covers dubiously. 'Are you even wearing anything under that?'

'Let's just say the boys are out in full force and _loving_  it.' Finn moved across the room towards him. 'Come on, give my robe a little rub.'

Kurt flinched back. 'That never worked on Rachel and it isn't going to work on me!'

'Kurt, seriously. Come and touch my robe.'

'You know how I feel about nylon, Finn.'

'Dude, don't ruin it.' He grabbed at Kurt's hand. 'Touch it.'

'Fine! If it will shut--ahhh---' As soon as his fingertips touched the inferior material, the room and all that lay within it vanished and Kurt found himself standing in his own living room 'Seriously, Finn?' Kurt wiped his hand against his thigh. 'We couldn't just have  _walked_  downstairs!'

'Well, excuse me for adding a sense of drama!' Finn crossed his arms and indicated to the couch, where Burt and Carole sat wrapping up gifts. 'Dude, knew it. _Call of Duty, Black Ops 2._  See, and you told me putting hints on bits of paper and leaving them in the butter was unhygienic.'

 _'It is_!'

'--worry about Kurt.' Kurt's head snapped up at the mention of his name from his father. 'He's always been strong, but lately-- I don't know. I think he's pushing people away.'

'He's been hurt, love. You know what that's like. The thought of letting people in again is terrifying.' Carole placed a hand on Burt's arm, stilling his motion. 'Kurt will find his way back, I know it. He's strong. But he's not hard. That boy is too full of love.'

'It's not a flaw,' said Burt defensively. 'He's just like his mother.' He cast an apologetic glance at Carole. 'That came out wrong.'

'No,' she said tenderly. 'It's fine to remember her.'

'Kurt takes care of that,' said his father. 'She lives through him. I have to tell you about the carrots! Some guy called Julian showed him how to do them like his mom did--'

FInn took hold of Kurt's hand and pulled him away. 'Boring! Let's go find out what's happening at The Blaines.' 

Kurt scowled. 'The  _what?'_

'It's a new thing I'm trying.' 

* * *

 

  
  
'Wow, this place is fancy! It's like  _Downton Abbey_.' said Finn, picking up a coaster and giving a small impressed whistle. 'You know, I never would have thought Blaine came from money since he's still wearing his outfits from the seventh grade but--whoa.' He grabbed Kurt's arm and dragged him over to the crowded table. 'Hey, look! There's me! And Quinn, and Santana, and Brittany, and Rach--'

'I can see, Finn!'

'I can see me, too! Isn't it trippy.' He paused, considering. 'Rachel's right, I do have an  _exquisite_  profile.'

Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Is it really essential we include this in our roller-coaster of horrors? I turned it down for a reason, Finn.' He tried not to dwell on how close Sebastian was sitting next to Blaine as he spoke. 'Let's go see what else dad and Carole got you for Christmas? I'm sure I saw a car shaped gift bag in the back just then.'

'Oh, my God, let's totally go-- wait! Man, you are wily!' Finn grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to watch the group. 'Listen.'

'--your voice would go much better with my range, anyway, Blaine.' slimed slimey Sebastian in a slimy fashion. 'It's much better suited.'

'What?' said Kurt, plopping down on the seat next to him, glaring daggers. 'Have you heard his voice? It sounds like when you aren't quite sure whether you left your iPod on in your bag or not.'

'Oh, I don't think-- no, I'm not going to sing. It just won't be the same without Kurt.' Blaine smiled sadly over at Rachel. 'Despite persistent offerings of replacement duet partners.'

'If you ask me, Hummel is being totally selfish,' said Santana, sitting back in her chair. 'It's one song. All he has to do is mince on up, hurt the hearing of those imprisoned in a nearby pound and then mince back off again. How hard is that?'

'I hate to agree with anything Lopez has to say but she's right, killer. Kurt let you down-- he let you all down.' Sebastian held up a spoon and check his bangs in the reflection. 'Probably thinks he is too good for you all now that he is in the city.'

'Hey, that's not true!' said Rachel and Finn in unison. They shot each other shy looks before turning their glares back to Sebastian. 'Kurt's one of the sweetest, kindest people that I know,' continued Rachel, 'and he has a lot on his plate, right now, and you know nothing about him.' Kurt felt his lips tugging into a smirk as Rachel leaned back in her seat and clenched her jaw.

'Oh, I'm sure it's hard for him with his sassy New York apartment, scholarship to Nyada and designer clothes,' said Quinn, 'but I suppose a pregnancy, going delinquent and being confined to a wheelchair are small beans compared to that.' 

Hunter smirked. 'Designer clothes don't maketh the man.' 

Blaine turned to him. 'No, they don't. But he doesn't need designer clothes to make him a good, moral and interesting person. He already is.'

Kurt grabbed Finn's arm. 'I never thought that--' 

'Man, this is so boring. They're not even talking about me,' said Finn. 'Come on, let's go home.'

'No, wait! Waiiiiit---!' 

* * *

 

  
Kurt could not help his moue of disappointment. He crossed his arms and glared at Finn. 'I was  _learning_  something then, and you just hauled me off to probably make you a sandwich or some cinnamon milk, you big lump!' 

Finn began to unbutton his coat. 'It's a little hot in here, isn't it?' he asked.

Kurt pulled on his collar. 'It-- it is.'

'I'm just going to show you what's underneath this coat.'

Kurt's mouth went dry. 'If you insist,' he whispered hoarsely.

To his alarm - and disappointment - there beneath the coat were Joe and Rory, clutching at Finn's legs.

'Ta-dah!' said Finn.

'But they don't even wash,' said Kurt. 'I don't want them ruining my bedsheets.'

'What?'

Kurt flushed. 'What?'

'They represent two things you hide from, Kurt.' 

'Washing?'

'Innocence and famine.'

'Why is the second one bad?' He considered. 'And I'm really a bit uncomfortable with this. Aren't jokes about Irish people starving to death a bit... a bit Dickensish?'

'Hey,  _you're_ the dick, right! Rory is innocence, dude. That hate crime's all on you.'

Kurt wrinkled his nose. 'And why is Joe famine? It doesn't make sense.'

'I'm famished,' said Joe. 'Famished for the Lord!'

Kurt tapped his lip. 'Wait, shouldn't it be ignorance and want?'

'Oh, my God.' Finn began to button up his coat, shaking his head in horror. 'What is it with you and the Irish prejudice?'

'No! I mean in the stor--'

Finn held up his hand. 'Imagine what will happen to these two without the ability to connect with others, without the chance to express themselves creatively. They will become these vile beasts that you see clinging unto me.' a muffled _hey_  sang from beneath the clock, 'heed me, Kurt, for I see the word DOOM written upon their foreheads.'

'Come on, Rory wasn't  _that_ bad.'

' **DOOM!'**  shouted Finn, flinging open his coat once more, the buttons flipping off Kurt's forehead. Rory and Joe were once more revealed, but now yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Like Puck. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, had monsters half so horrible and dread. Like Puck.

'But what can we do to save them?' gasped Kurt. 'There must be something.'

'Are there not social network sites? Are there not hipster photography apps?'

The clock struck twelve.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Cowering once more at the bottom of his bed, Kurt rose his face up from his hands. Christmas Present Finn was gone and in his place a dark spectre watched him quietly from the middle of the room. The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came, Kurt bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this, it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.

Kurt felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

'Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?' said Kurt, his voice small. 'Ghost of the Future!' he exclaimed, 'I fear you the most of all, yet I know that your intentions are good- that you intend to save me from myself. Will you not speak to me?'

The Spirit answered not, but raised its hand to its head and pulled back the cloak to reveal the horrors within.

'Sweet Jesus, no,' sighed Kurt,hugging himself tightly.

'You know,' answered Mr. Schue, slipping the garment from his shoulders. 'I could choose to be very offended here. But I'm bigger than that. Come,' he jazz handed to the left.'We have much to see on our Journey.'

'I know you just spoke, but I could feel the capitalization in that word,' hissed Kurt.

'Don't stop,' whispered Mr. Schue, gathering him close. 'Believing.'

'I hate you,' said Kurt.

 

* * *

 

It was a dull winter's day, with a bitter wind. Kurt pulled his bathrobe closer around his shivering body and trudged through the frosty grass alongside Schue. They were in a cemetery. He glanced curiously at the gravestones as they passed, reading dates: 2014, 2021, 2043. He frowned. 'What year is this?'

''It matters not!' Schue intoned, looking impressed with himself. 'Nailed it!' He ushered Kurt towards where a group of people in  
gaudy clothes were gathered around a grave. 

Kurt grimaced. 'Shoulder pads?' he cried. 'Who would visit such horror on fashion?' 

'This time around, it was _you_.'

'Come again?'

'They're your designs, Kurt. By this point in the future, you're a famous fashion designer.'

Kurt clapped his hands together. 'Ha! In your faces, Ghosts of Christmas Past! And, um, present.' 

'Distracted, you are.'

'Yoda?'

Schue frowned. 'I was going for dramatic.  _Sorry_ , that we didn't all get to NYADA. Anyway, come with me. You have to see what's going on down at that grave.' 

'Could you let go?' said Kurt, pulling his hand from Mr. Schue's grasp. 'Honestly, isn't there a register you should signing onto somewhere?' He glanced around him, scowl on his lips. 'Is this a funeral? Oh, my God, you actually have taken me to a funeral. No wonder you've only ever dated two women.'

'This isn't a date, Kurt.' He rubbed at the back of his neck. 'I mean-- unless you-- You're a very attractive young ma--'

'Stop! I refuse to allow this crazed delusion of mine to wander into  _that_ terrority.' Kurt shuddered. 'God, your mind wanders once in the shower and your conscience never lets you live it down.'

Mr. Schue nodded, a nostalgic smile on his face. 'You held that cartwheel for  _so_ long.'

'God, what a bore!' A loud voice boomed to Kurt's left. 'And honestly, where are the press? I should be having seizures from flashbulbs by now.' She was a tall woman with a pinched, unkind face. She pulled her mink coat closer around herself and readjusted the veil around her face. She gave a contemptuous sneer. 'If I'd known about the dearth of important people, I wouldn't have come to this troglodyte's funeral.' 

'Well,  _please,_  are you surprised? Everyone hated the old coot.' Her partner lowered his shades and glanced around the small crowd. 'I'm pretty certain every single person here popped a cork on hearing he bit the big one.'

' _Ergh_ , look at the pallbearers. Why are they all so good looking?' The woman laughed derisively. 'Oh, my Lord. Are they his models?'

'Oh, of course they are, darling. One- he didn't have any friends and two- look at the dated, unoriginal attire they are in. Double stitching? Puh-leeze, that is so 2012.' The man sniffed. 'Never had any vision, I have no idea how he was so successful.'

'Because he was a ruthless bastard, honey,' she answered, as Kurt and Schue followed her into the building. 'That's how you get anywhere in this business.'

'I heard he tried to donate his body to science. They didn't want it.' 

'God,' said Kurt as the two laughed and went on ahead. 'This guy must have been a real charmer. I almost feel sorry-- wait, are those balloons?'

'Yes.' Schue nodded. 'It's one of those celebrate the life rather than mourn the death type of things. Oh! A buffet!'

'Really? Well, I guess that kind of sounds nice.' His eyes widened. 'That guy just let off a party popper!' 

In the middle of the room there was a small coffin, next to a meagre collection of buttercups and daisies. If Kurt didn't know better, he would suspect they'd been nabbed from the park outside. A low hum spread throughout, and every which word seemed to rhyme with  _miser, bastard_  and something that sounded like _runt_. Hmm. Must have been a little guy.

He pulled away from Schue and wandered through the crowd. Funerals were so  _depressing_. Even if this guy had been horrible, he shuddered to hear people bad-mouthing him. The man was  _dead_ , and yet they were criticising his sense of fashion and his terrible skin within earshot of the coffin. He let his gaze rest on the coffin and frowned. So why had Schue brought him here? Surely he knew the deceased? There were so many people in his life it could be - after all, terrible fashion sense applied to just about everyone he knew -- but God! He felt tears gather in his eyes to think of anyone he knew so reviled, spoken about so unkindly even in death. 

'And I didn't even show up,' he murmured. 

'Oh, but you did.' Mr. Schue placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. 

'Good!' Kurt said firmly. 'I'd never-- why are you staring at me like that?'

'Like what?' asked Mr. Schue, gurning. 

'Like I'm missing something.'

'Oh, well-- you could say that you are missing something. Something quite vital.'

Kurt scratched his ear.

'Like-- a vital sign.'

Kurt looked around him. Then shrugged.

'One might say that--' Schue clutched his throat and made a gargling noise.

'Are you okay? I think I might have some strepsils--'

'Do you remember that old Monty Python sketch?' Schue raised his eyebrows. 'You see where I'm going with this?'

Kurt tilted his head and then; 'Ohhhh!'

'Ah, phew. That was getting awkward!'

'I know, right.' Kurt laughed. 'No one expects the Spanish inquisition!'

'Yeah-- wait what? No! You're dead! Totally and totally dead. My God, and I always thought you were supposed to be one of the smarter ones.' Mr. Schue covered his mouth. 'Uh-- I mean, I'm so sorry for your loss. Of you. And the being alive thing. The loss of that. Ha! You're so dead, though.'

'No!' Kurt could feel the tears flooding his eyes, and pushing past Mr. Schue, he flung himself at the coffin. 'No, no-- anything but this,' he cried, smashing his fists down upon the lid. 'Anything but---argh!' He leapt back as the wood splintered towards him. 'How cheap is this-- you buried me in plywood? Oh, my god! You buried me in a sweater vest?'

Mr. Schue bristled. 'Well, actually, in the future people understand what a fashion statement I was making. Actually, I even had it passed into law! As President.'

'You're the President,' gasped Kurt. He glanced out to the limited congregation and realised that they all wore-- while respectively coloured black--sweater vests.

'Are you really that surprised? I'm on my fourth term!'

'But-- they only have two?'

Mr. Schue chuckled. 'Well, I got rid of that silly old thing in my first term!'

As bile fought its way through his throat, his eyes saw a familiar sight in the background. 'Blaine?' he whispered, relief flooding his heart. Oh, how it gladdened him that even in this dismal, cruel future that his first love had not forgo-- who the fuck was that bitch with his hands all over him?

'Taylor Lautner,' whispered Mr. Schue. 'Hasn't he aged well. Not like you.' He pointed into the cracked coffin. 'Check out those wrinkles from all that frowning.'

'No!' screamed Kurt, clutching at his perfect skin. 'No!' He peeked through his fingers. 'Wait. Is that Sebastian?'

'Yeah,' Schue nodded. 'They're poly.'

_'Arghhhhhh!'_

'Man, Christmas Present Finn told me you were prejudiced but whoa!'

Kurt, shakily, made his way down the aisle towards Blaine and the others. He needed to see some emotion on his face. Something to say that he had meant something to someone. That he was remembered as something other than the cruel miser with hindered fashion tastes that he had become. 'Blaine,' he whispered on reaching his row. 'Oh, Blaine.'

'He taught me a lot,' Blaine was saying to Taylor Lautner. 'Before him I was idealistic. I was obsessed with true love and charity and--' he shook his head. 'Oh, I was so young and foolish! Honestly, without him I would probably still be that way. But he showed me the way life could be. The way it should be.' He brought Taylor's knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. 'Without Kurt Hummel, I wouldn't be the man I am today. CEO of Fox News!'

'Are you fucking kidding me?' squeaked Kurt. Kurt moaned as Blaine began to regale Sebastian with just how many blood diamonds he used as paperweights. 'Can we just go? There's got to be someone who actually gives a crap that I'm--' he gasped as the funeral pyre disappeared and was replaced with a theatre hall. 'I know here! This is the Gershwin!'

'It is!' Schue motioned to the stage. 'And here's your someone.'

'Rachel!' Kurt began to move up the aisle. 'Rachel! I knew she'd make it! Is she huge? Was I her muse? Did she dedicate every performance to me?' Softly he could hear her humming _Happy Days Are Here Again_. 'She remembers me! She--' His smile faded on Rachel turning round to face him, broom in hand as she began to sweep the dust from the stage. 'Why is she doing that? Don't they have people for--  _oh_ \--' Kurt looked over at Schue. 'They have  _her_  for that, don't they?'

'You were one of her biggest supporters. Her fellow dreamer. When you began to grow colder and meaner-- she was in the firing line. She lost her confidante when her teachers or directors made her doubt herself.' Schue shrugged. 'She lost her best friend.'

'She never needed me to be a star,' whispered Kurt. 'She already was a star.'

'See?' Schue shook his head, and sat down in one of the theatre chairs. 'She lost that. She lost you.' He looked up at the stage and sighed. 'And then she lost herself.'

'This is insane! Are you seriously telling me that because I didn't take back my cheating ex-boyfriend immediately or go to his pity party ran by sociopathic would-be-blinders-- I made the world turn into this?' Kurt gaped. 'You are going to place the blame for all of this on  _me?'_

'It's not about Blaine, Kurt. It's not about the Warblers,' said Schue sincerely. 'It's about you.' He sighed and motioned for Kurt to sit down next to him. 'You've been through so much in your life, Kurt. Year after year, you have taken whatever the world has decided to throw at you and it never stopped your stride. You just got back up and carried on, more determined than before. But you never let the world make your heart grow cold. You never let the world change who you were, Kurt. You kept faith and hope beside you every step of the way. And you're right, maybe Christmas is just another day-- but that's not what any of this is about. It's about what it represents. You've been the outsider, Kurt, and you know what glee club was to you when you needed it. It kept that light inside of you burning when everything tried its best to distinguish it. And now that could all go away. These kids need that outlet. They need to know that there is somewhere in the world where their differences don't make them weird, or unwanted but special. They need a place where they can be who they really are and get a glimpse of how it could be some day if they follow their dreams.' Schue tilted his head and looked at him, really looked at him. 'Christmas is about so many things, and yet only one thing.'

'Giving and charity,' said Kurt with a small smile.

'That's two things, dumb ass, but I'll let it slide.'

Kurt wrapped his arms round himself, watching Rachel quietly sing to herself in the shadows. 'Tell me, spirit--'

'Call me Will.'

' _Spirit,_ answer me this. Are these the shadows of the things that  _will_  be, or are they shadows of things that  _may_  be, only?'

Schue shrugged. 

'I can change this, can't I?' He nodded at his own words. 'I know I can.'

 'You see, Kurt Hummel, you really had a wonderful life.'

'What?'

'Hmm, oh, sorry-- another appointment later. Ignore me.'

 

* * *

 

Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in! Kurt flung back the covers, and leapt from the bed. 'God! I feel so light! I feel so excited! I feel all Christmassy!' He ran across his room, bright grin spreading across his face. Reaching his window, he opened the window and leant out, delighted to find people passing below him. 'You there, boy! What day is this?'

Finn frowned back up at him. 'What the hell? You hit your head, Kurt?'

'What day is it?'

'Dude, it's Christmas Eve?'

'I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. Oh, what am I saying? They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can.'

Finn blinked. 'Okay. I'm going to the benefit and, you--uh-- you maybe should head down to the e.r or something.'

'The benefit! It's the benefit tonight?'

'Uh, yeah?'

'An intelligent boy!' said Kurt. 'A remarkable boy!'

'Well, if you are just going to be sarcastic, I'm going to go.'

'No! No! Wait for me! I'll get my shoes!' He looked down at his clothes. 'And change out of these pajamas  oh, my God, I've been all over the time in these PJs!'

'Wait for you?' Finn wrinkled his brow. 'I thought you didn't want anything to do with this? You told me if I opened my big wazoo about it one more time you would shove your socks in there.'

'Against it? Against it? Finn! It's Christmas! And I have a duet to sing!'

'Alright, cool, calm down. No need to have a stroke.' 

Kurt clapped his hands in delight and jumped back from the window. 'It's not too late! Okay, I can fix this!'

* * *

 

  
  
'Santana! Santana!' Kurt practically fell out of the moving car in his haste to reach her. 'Wait!'

She and Brittany turned on hearing his cry. 'What the hell? Are you being chased?'

'No, no! It's Christmas! Isn't it wonderful?'

'Meh. It's alright.'

'Here! Here's your Christmas present.' Kurt grabbed at her hand and closed her fist around it. 

'You're-- this is a fifty?' She blinked down at the note, staring at him as he handed a used candle over to Brittany.

'I'm so sorry, I didn't have time to shop-- so I had to make do with what I could find in my room.'

'He gave me his duvet,' said Finn coming up behind them as they walked into the building. 'Which is kinda nice but I had my heart set on the carpet.'

'I told you, there was no time! Maybe next Christmas.' Kurt jolted in excitement. 'There's going to be a next Christmas! And another and another!'

'So,' said Santana. 'How much MDA did you slip him?'

'I like him like this,' said Brittany. She pulled Kurt close. 'I'm glad you're not The Grinch now,' she confessed. 'I was afraid that the green Santa poisoned you, so I burned him.' 

Kurt's smile froze. 'Er, thanks.'

He extricated himself from her hold and picked up another present, handing it to Sebastian who had wandered over. The other boy raised an eyebrow. 'You got  _me_  a present?'

'Hey, said Kurt with a shrug. 'It's Christmas.'

Sebastian shook his hand. 'Yeah, it is. Thank you.' He reached into the little paper bag and pulled out an iPod cord. He checked the bag again, then the wire, then stared at Kurt. 'I don't know what to say.'

'Ah, it's nothing!' said Kurt. 'I have about 16 of them around my room.' He clapped his hands together and gazed around the room at his friends, feeling happiness crest within him. And of course, there was Blaine, looking handsome as ever. 

It was hard not to embrace Blaine, and tell him of all the times he'd wept that they weren't together, that entering a new stage of his life without Blaine at his side was frightening. But it remained that next week, Christmas would be over. And soon it would be a new year, and maybe he would find another person to love, though God, would it ever be as intense as with Blaine? 

He didn't know, but he hoped that no matter what happened, Blaine would be part of his life. He hoped that they could always share such a look and understand all that it meant. 

Quinn was next, resplendent in Gucci. She gave his outfit an approving look. 'It's good to see you here, Kurt.'

'It's good to be here,' he said as she hugged him. 'Your perfume,' he whispered as she pulled away. 

Quinn raised a hand to her throat. 'Oh, you like it? It's _Knowing_.'

'Estee Lauder.' He smiled. 

'Yes.' 

'My favourite.' A dreamy sadness overwhelmed him, cast everything in a tender light. He wouldn't cry, damn it. Christmas was not the right time for such things, but only love, and gratefulness, and the miraculous wonder that things were ever right at all. 

'Merry Christmas,' whispered Kurt. 

'God bless us, everyone!' cried Joe happily. 

'Shut  _up_ , Joe.' 

 **The End**  
&  
Happy Holidays!

 


End file.
